The Ward
by Demand Truth
Summary: Lord Dumbledore is on his deathbed, and his last wish is to locate his missing heir, a boy named Harry. He entrusts this job to his friend, Mr. Snape, who has the impossible task of preparing Harry for upper class society. SSHP, Slash, AU
1. Chapter 1

**The Ward**

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the works of Jane Austen, which largely inspired this fanfic. It will contain slash, but nothing too graphic.

Chapter One:

_An Untimely Death_

The great turrets and towers of Albeywick Estate seemed to droop forlornly against the backdrop of rolling gray fog. It was the rainy season in the country of Somersetshire, and while the emerald green hills soaked up the rain with gratitude, the roads became nearly impassable. The sombre, melancholy rainstorms suited the mood of the estate, and in particular, the mood of one Mr. Snape. His mentor and old friend, Albus Dumbledore, lay in his death bed with magical pneumonia and little hope of recovery.

With a heavy heart and a scowl to match, Mr. Snape entered the bed chamber and pointedly did not look at the life-size painting of Lord Dumbledore's only daughter, a willful, red-headed child named Lily, who had proceeded her father in death some seventeen years before and now lived above the roaring hearth. Portrait Lily now spent her time smiling mysteriously over the topmost edge of her book and occasionally moving to her oil-painted window to gaze out longingly at far-off places. Mr. Snape hated this particular painting, and made it a point to ignore her teasing smiles and coquettish grins. He remembered the real Lily as vividly as if he'd just seen her an hour or so before, and he felt the oil painting was a flat and poor imitation, as well as a painful reminder.

Lord Dumbledore, however, was very fond of the painting. As he lay coughing in his bed, his trembling, long fingers occasionally reached towards the girl's likeness, as if his departed daughter would exit her frame and come to sooth him, perhaps even ask for forgiveness for her disgraceful elopement. Mr. Snape knew that this was as impossible an idea as the portrait regaining life; Lily had followed her heart without mercy, and would have never returned to her father or bowed to his wishes. There was too much of Lord Dumbledore's pride in her for that.

Mr. Snape transferred the potion he brought into a crystal goblet and sat beside the dying man. Lord Dumbledore's skeletal hand grasped Mr. Snape's forearm with all the strength of a babe.

"Have you found him, my dear boy?" Lord Dumbledore asked, as he always did. Mr. Snape could only shake his head.

"This detective came highly recommended, my Lord. I expect news from him any day now," Mr. Snape assured. Lord Dumbledore nodded and dutifully drank his potion. The magical pneumonia that sapped strength from Lord Dumbledore's magic reserves and his lungs could be kept at bay with the complicated potions, but not cured. Even the potions were reaching their limit of effectiveness. Mr. Snape silently assessed the small scabs left from where Lord Dumbledore picked at his fragile skin, and at the bluish puddling of blood on the undersides of his arms. He did not have long. Another hacking cough filled the bed chamber and Mr. Snape winced. He did not abandon his post, however, and remained by the old man's side until he slipped back into an uneasy slumber. Mr. Snape sat for a long while gently cooling Lord Dumbledore's forehead with a cloth and ignoring Lily's playful whispers.

It was all her fault he was in this mess, and if the knowing, mischievous look in her green eyes was anything to judge by, this fact she knew well. With a sigh and an empty goblet, Mr. Snape left Lord Dumbledore's side and returned to the study, searching the stormy skies in vain for an owl from the detective.

* * *

><p>Detective Lupin pursued the truth in his investigations with the tenacity of a dog on a meat bone. He was not the first private investigator to be hired by Lord Dumbledore to locate the elderly man's only surviving heir, but he was determined to be the only one who was successful. A former London Peeler, Detective Lupin had left the force filled with disdain for the rampant corruption and the brutish natures of his co-workers. He had since been very successful in an independent practice, which also suited him well due to his unfortunate and secret malady: a curse that transformed him monthly into the form of a beast.<p>

As much as the beast cursed him, it also offered him aide. Though Detective Lupin could have done without his overly sensitive nose in the muck and filth of Cheapside, he very much valued his sensitive hearing, which had clued him in to a conversation about a stable boy who fit this missing heir's description quite well. None of his predecessors had been willing to dirty their shoes and offend their noses with a journey into muggle Cheapside's bowels, but Lupin knew the missing heir would not be found in the lap of luxury. His mother had eloped with a poor soldier, who died in the Goblin Rebellions not long after. She had been penniless and had fallen gravely ill in the smog and the filth of London, too delicate and noble to survive in such conditions. She had dispatched an owl to her wealthy father (who had disowned her) only to plead that he consider his grandson's well-being, though she did not ask forgiveness for herself. She birthed the child and died, and even as the owl reached Lord Dumbledore, the babe was swept up into the underbelly of London as swiftly as raw sewage running from the streets into the Thames.

Lupin was also grateful to the beast within as it made him sharp and strong, which was necessary to survive in the dark, crooked streets of Cheapside at night. Lupin followed the trail, his illuminated wand tip barely penetrating the blackness. The city's thousands of chimney pots belched filthy air into the sky, and horse manure caked the roads like a second layer of cobble stone. The magical parts of London were, of course, cleaner and much more enjoyable places to visit, but Lupin did not think his prey was to be found in magical London. No, he expected to find young Harry Potter in the filthiest, dirtiest part of town—the industrialized, muggle district of Cheapside, teeming with the poor and hopeless.

From a pitch black alcove, a girl of merely fourteen limped forward, and Lupin hastily extinguished his wand. She held a lumpy wax candle, which illuminated her revealed bosom and her filthy rags.

"Farthings for your pleasure, Sir," she offered. Her rail-thin arms were scabbed and her hair hung lankly about her face in oily tendrils. Lupin's nose twitched in disgust at her smell, and he stood quite far from her. He reached into his pocket and found a few muggle coins amidst his wizarding money, a small amount to him, but a fortune to the girl. She would eat for weeks. He held it out to her, and she approached, looking both fearful, resigned, and grateful at once. Her young hand went to his waistcoat and he stopped it there.

"None of that now. Take this and get home. It is too late for a girl to be on the streets," Lupin said as he gave the girl the coins. Her eyes widened in shock and she looked at him like a startled deer, frozen in place. With a kindly smile, Lupin nodded towards the alley she'd emerged from. "Run along now...but first, might I ask if you've seen a young stable boy in these parts? Seventeen years or so? Black hair, green eyes?"

"You mean Harry, maybe?"

"Yes, that's him," Lupin replied, carefully schooling the eagerness out of his voice. She eyed him suspiciously a moment (it was not the habit of the poor to offer witness to the Peelers) but she clenched the coin in her hand and pointed off down the crooked street.

"You'll find him that way. He sweeps at this hour."

"Thank you, miss," Lupin said cordially as he continued on his way. The girl disappeared in the blackness of the alcove as speedily as she'd emerged. Moving more quickly, Lupin hurried along until he spotted him—a scraggly, malnourished looking lad hunched tiredly over a large sweeper broom. He pushed ineffectively at the stinking manure and hay on the streets, toiling under the weak, greasy light of a lone gas lamp.

"Harry?" Lupin asked gently. Startled, the boy glared fiercely, clutching the broom as if he intended to use it as a weapon.

"What do you want?" the heir demanded harshly. Lupin held up his hands bracingly, showing that he was unarmed.

"I don't mean to hurt you, but I've been hired to find you, lad," Lupin explained. Harry carefully eyed Lupin's good clothes and his clean hands. He was clearly not from Harry's social class. The raggedy boy studied his blue overcoat and reached a conclusion about Lupin's profession.

"You're a bloody Peeler! I haven't done anything!" Harry protested, dropping his broom and retreating quickly. Detective Lupin could only curse under his breath and tear of after the boy, unwilling to lose him now that he'd _finally_ tracked him down. A muttered tracking spell made his task much easier, and he slowed his pace to make the boy think he'd been successful in losing him.

He continued along, past drunkards and thieves, whores and beggars. Mr. Snape was not going to be happy to learn his future ward had been found in such a place. Detective Lupin hoped the boy was not a criminal or a common brute. It would be a recipe for disaster to give such a man the kind of inheritance Harry Potter had been willed—he'd drink and gamble away his mountains of galleons in mere months.

It was not Lupin's job, however, to worry about what would happen after he'd located the heir. That was Mr. Snape's considerable problem. He just had a job to finish, and an heir to transport.

He tracked the boy to an overcrowded tenant house, swarming with rats and fighting couples. Lupin canceled the spell and knocked upon a nondescript door. A towering man answered, as mean looking as he was big.

"What do you want?" the monstrous man demanded, filling the door frame with his size. Detective Lupin grimaced and hoped this did not turn into a physical altercation.

"I'm looking for a young lad—black hair, green eyes—goes by the name of Harry," Lupin said. The man scowled.

"What'cha want him for?" he demanded, his piggy eyes clearly taking in Lupin's good dress and monied look. Knowing a greedy pig when he saw one, Lupin changed tactics.

"Hand him over without any questions and I'll give you forty pounds for the boy," Lupin offered, unhooking a money pouch from beneath his greatcoat. The fat man's eyes lit with greed and his stomped off, without so much as a word, and returned with a squirming, protesting boy firmly in hand. The boy seemed accustomed to such treatment, though he fought, and his arms were littered with bruises to suggest he was frequently fighting against someone bigger and meaner. Ignoring the boy's smell, Lupin tossed the fat man the money pouch and took the protesting boy into his arms, clapping a potion drenched handkerchief over the boy's mouth and dragging him along until he went completely limp. A whispered levitation charm, and Lupin easily hoisted the boy over his shoulder.

He navigated out of Cheapside without further incident, hired a magical carriage quickly despite the lateness of the hour, and was on the road to Somersetshire with the missing heir safely in tow. His search of three months was finally at a successful end.

* * *

><p>Ginevra Weasley's eyes lit with glee as the elegant Draco Malfoy descended from his Barouche with all the grace of a boy who had just spent two years studying at the prestigious Beauxbatons Academy in France.<p>

Of course, Malfoy was not paying _her_ a visit—such a thing would suggest engagement or romantic attachment (not that Ginevra wouldn't welcome it) but Malfoy had come to call on her elder brother, Ronald. This, she well knew, was just a cover for visiting her. Draco Malfoy was a dandy and a young man of the utmost refinement. Ronald Weasley cared only about hunting, chess, and dogs, and associated with the young Malfoy heir merely because they were of the same age and station in life. Ronald's prized dogs yapped about his feet and the wheels of Draco's splendid, customized Barouche, causing the six, flawless white horses to prance in place and eye the dogs nervously.

"Hello, Draco," Ron greeted amicably enough. He didn't seem to care either way that Draco had returned from France, but Ginevra could hardly contain herself. Draco shook Ronald's hand firmly and bowed elegantly to her, flashing her a knowing grin. Ginevra nearly swooned. Draco had grown even taller and handsomer while overseas, and he was dressed in such perfection that her brother looked like a boorish farm hand by comparison. Ginevra was almost embarrassed by him.

"Radiant as ever, Miss Weasley," Draco complimented easily. Ginevra blushed and delighted that he was back in Somersetshire. It had been so boring without him around to host dances at his parents' summer estate and to gossip with her about the ladies and men of their country town. As if he'd never left, the three young purebloods entered Burrows Estate and retired to the drawing room, all while Draco talked of his time abroad.

"I don't see the point in it. Hogwarts is a fine school, if you care for schooling. Why go all the way to France?" Ron asked as he set up the chess board. He enjoyed a game with Draco even if he enjoyed little else about the blond's company.

"You wouldn't understand, Ronald. _Some_ of us enjoy the finer things in life. Some of us have taste," Ginevra replied dismissively. Draco winked at her.

"I have brought you a gown like you've never seen—it's the style in Paris now. Your mother will think it scandalous," Draco promised. Ginevra beamed in delight.

"I will wear it to the ball that is to be held at Churchill in a fortnight. Will you be attending, Draco?" she asked hopefully.

"Longbottom's place? I suppose I'll have to go. I've grown accustomed to all the parties in Paris. I'll die of boredom here if I don't attend absolutely every ball this summer," Draco drawled lazily. Ronald rolled his eyes.

"Balls are tiresome things," he opined. Ginevra scowled at him.

"You, dear brother, are a tiresome thing. You care only for your smelly dogs. How you'll find a wife when you're such an atrocious dancer is beyond me," she said with a feigned flippancy. As always, Draco found her girlish ways amusing, and he grinned at her forwardness.

"Now you must tell me what I've missed these two years, Ginevra. Has old Lord Dumbledore found his heir? How is his health?" Draco asked.

"No, though it's rumored Mr. Snape invested _very_ heavily in a new investigator from London. His search grows more desperate as Lord Dumbledore gets weaker. Lord Dumbledore never leaves his estate now—he hasn't been seen in nearly a year, though father does go to call on him and says he is very ill," Ginevra said. Ronald moved his piece and it destroyed one of Draco's mercilessly, causing the red-head to grin and Draco to scowl.

"I wonder if Mr. Snape will part with that Thoroughbred of Lord Dumbledore's before the fox season. Mr. Snape will surely have no use for him—shame to waste such a fine animal," Ronald mused. Draco's scowl changed into a gleeful grin.

"No, Mr. Snape has no use for a fine horse. He much prefers to clop about on that old Suffolk Punch of his, as if he were some common farmer," Draco teased. Ginevra snickered into her hand and Ronald failed to see the humor.

"The Suffolk Punch of his is a sturdy enough horse, but you can't get the speed out of a Suffolk for a good hunt," Ronald said as he claimed another of Draco's pawns.

"Either you've gotten better Ronald, or I have gotten worse," Draco joked, his displeasure only barely masked. Without sensitivity, Ronald offered a quick reply.

"You've gotten worse. Don't they play chess in France?"

"Hardly. They have elegant parties and dance till the morning light," Draco gushed, causing Ginevra's eyes to light with reverence.

"Oh, Ron, do you think father would let me attend Beauxbatons?" she asked wistfully.

"You simply must, Ginevra. Hogwarts is so plebeian these days—I can't tell you how deeply I regret attending my first five years there."

"That's a silly idea, Ginny. Ladies should be home schooled. You have no place in a boarding school. Only unmannerly girls attend Hogwarts," Ronald parroted, sounding very much like his father. Ginevra and Draco's eyes, however, lit with glee.

"Is that so, brother? You would suggest such a thing to Miss Granger?"

Instantly, Ronald's cheeks flushed with color and he scowled.

"That's different. She's brighter than any wizard. Of course, it would have been much better for her to be schooled by Lady Fudge," Ronald replied. His companions exchanged knowing looks. Ronald's admiration for Hermione Granger had been obvious since her family first moved to Locksley Cottage. Feeling embarrassed, Ronald desperately tried to change the subject.

"Colonel Black is back from the war front for good. We're to go riding next week," Ronald said. Draco made only a mild noise of interest. He cared nothing for the seemingly endless Goblin rebellions and territory wars with the Giants, though Ronald would talk with Colonel Black for hours about defensive strategy and magics. It was highly tiresome in Draco's opinion.

"Draco doesn't care for boring talk of war, though it might interest you to know Lavender Brown struck a rather fortuitous engagement with the Colonel. We all knew he'd settle down eventually, though none expected him to choose a witch," Ginevra gossiped. Draco was mildly intrigued by the unexpected pairing, but it had only been rumor that said Colonel Black preferred the company of wizards.

"Miss Brown is lucky—the fortune in that match is all for her," Draco paused and his attention drifted to the piano. "Ginevra, do tell me you still play. I scoured France and I promise I found no lady with a sweeter voice and a gentler hand on the pianoforte," Draco flattered. Flushed with pleasure at his praise, Ginevra quickly moved to the room's piano and would have begun to play, if a carriage passing down the muddy road had not caught her eye. She moved like lightening to the window.

"I do believe that to be Detective Lupin, returning to Albeywick. Do you think he's found the heir?" she asked excitedly. Abandoning the game (much to Ronald's displeasure) Draco joined Ginny at the window and squinted at the carriage fading into the distance, no doubt headed towards the country's largest estate.

"I certainly hope so, though if he has, Mother will write to me instantly and insist I court him."

"_Everyone_ will seek to court him," Ginevra replied knowingly (and only sounding a little jealous). Draco offered her a bold wink.

"Well, regardless of what Mother says, I have my eye on someone else. Not even Lord Potter with all his galleons could tempt me away."

Ginevra flushed with delight and Ronald merely rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

"If he has found him, I hope he's decent in chess and will part with that Thoroughbred. You two are driving me to desperation."

"I hope he's been abroad, and dresses in all sorts of interesting fashions. Do you think he'll be a good dancer?"

"Oh, the very best, I'm sure. He might have even been in France all this time. Ginevra, we must be certain to welcome him to the neighborhood and help him to avoid falling in with undesirable company," Draco mused casually. Ginevra snickered.

"Mr. Malfoy, you forget with whom he'll be living. I'm afraid undesirable company is unavoidable in his present situation."

"Too right, Ginevra. Then I hope he is near eighteen, and able to rid himself of his ward sooner rather than later. No good can come from surly Mr. Snape's influence, mark my words."

"Are we going to finish this game or not, Draco?" Ronald demanded, distracting the aristocrat away from the window, and prompting Ginevra to return to the piano.

* * *

><p>Oblivious that his carriage was being observed, Harry Potter fussed nervously with the uncomfortable clothing Lupin had brought for him. It was impeccably clean, and Lupin had pelted him with a barrage of those funny spells that made his skin tingle and his hair stand on end. There wasn't even horse manure under his nails anymore, and Harry thought for years it had been a permanent stain on his skin.<p>

It was all so utterly fantastical that Harry still could not believe he was not dreaming.

"How do you know I'm this Lord's missing grandson again?" Harry asked, his skepticism obvious. While any other young boy would salivate at the idea of coming into a massive inheritance, Harry had been so harshly treated by life that he could not believe such good fortune truly possible. He thought it much more likely that he would get a taste of wealth, enough to desire it desperately, and then have it cruelly snatched away when it was discovered that he was nobody special after all.

"You are Harold James Potter, correct? Your mother was named Lily? Your father was in the army and died in the Goblin Rebellion of 1823?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Then you are the missing heir. I have seen your mother's portrait and your father's likeness—you are clearly their child. Those eyes could belong to no one else but Lily Potter. Besides, I am an investigator of the highest quality. I always get my man," Lupin said with a kindly wink.

Harry, however, was not comforted and continued to worry his bottom lip.

"I am to be a ward, you say? And learn...you know..."

"Magic?"

"Yes," Harry said, his eyes lighting with a bright, innocent joy. Remus smiled. Despite some unavoidable coarseness in mannerisms, Lupin thought Mr. Snape would be pleased with Harry's character. The boy was straightforward and intelligent, boldly curious and brave, with an almost impulsive sweetness about him that Lupin marveled at, considering his upbringing. Mr. Snape would certainly not have an easy go of shaping the lad into a gentleman, but it was hard to dislike the boy, for all his earnestness and wide-eyed wonder. He'd known nothing of his magical heritage until Lupin had explained the world of witches and wizards, as well as the use of wands, spells, and potions.

Of most importance, Harry had been introduced to cleaning spells. Loads of them.

"My grandfather..."

"Lord Dumbledore," Remus offered.

"Lord Dumbledore...he's dying? There's no hope for him?" Harry asked concernedly. Lupin frowned and reluctantly had to nod.

"It is his dying wish to see you, Harry. It has pained him greatly that he has not had his daughter's company all these years. It was her wish, and Lord Dumbledore shares it, that you should be returned to your proper place in society."

"But if it's so wonderful being rich, why did my mother run away?" Harry asked astutely. Lupin smiled.

"Love, as I understand it. Your father was stationed in town and she fell madly in love with him. He took her to London and set her up there, but they were poor and when he died, she was already to ill to return home."

"I knew she died giving birth to me, but I never knew they were a witch and wizard. I thought my father died in an American war."

"Magic is your heritage and your birthright. You will be an accomplished wizard in no time under Mr. Snape's tutelage, I'm sure."

"But what about—" Whatever question Harry had been about to ask was interrupted when Lupin harshly knocked on the top of the carriage, and they came to a lurching stop. Lupin darted out of the carriage, uncaring of the mud, and began retracing their path. Curious (and also uncaring of his new boots) Harry exited the carriage and trailed after the investigator.

When he caught up, Lupin was staring down at a crime scene. The victim had been shoddily buried, and the rains had partially unearthed him, making him visible from the road. He wore fine clothes and in Harry's estimation (who, sadly, had seen such a thing many times before) appeared to be the victim of robbers. Harry frowned and took a step back—he was not comfortable around corpses, but Lupin crouched over the body and carefully shifted through his clothing. From his inspection, he retrieved a longish, black hair and the initials P.P.

"Is this common out here?" Harry asked. He'd always thought the rich didn't have to deal with horrid crimes and murder.

"Highly uncommon...and rather unusual. I wonder...you see, it's very strange that...hmm. Perhaps I'll stay in town a little longer than I planned," Remus concluded. He accepted a spare saddle blanket from the coachman (who said a short prayer for the victim) and draped it respectfully over the body. Remus cast a spell to preserve the body and ward off animals. It would have to do until he could return to bag up the body properly. As for now, he had to deliver young Harry to his grandfather. Lord Dumbledore's time was short, and the victim certainly wasn't going anywhere.

"I can't suppose that to be a good omen—finding a corpse on the way to meet my grandfather," Harry remarked glumly. Typically optimistic, even Lupin could not disagree with him.

"Let us travel quickly then," Lupin said, nodding determinedly at the coach driver. They set off again, this time at a much faster clip, just as a heavy rain began to sweep over the countryside.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I primarily write Hetalia fanfiction, but my inspiration has been kind of low on that front and I had the idea to write a Harry Potter fanfic set during Regency England (a.k.a. A Harry Potter story in Jane Austen times.) Of course, I took huge liberties with family trees and alliances, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. Next chapter, Harry meets his caretaker...and a possible love interest?


	2. Chapter 2

**The Ward**

Chapter Two:

_The Guardian_

Running to get out of the rain, Detective Lupin and Harry darted for the main hall while the coachman took the horses and carriage around to the stables. The two men had barely closed the door on the rainstorm when Mr. Snape descended the main stair, his black greatcoat flaring out behind him like wings as he descended quickly. Harry was struck by his flashing black eyes and his intimidating presence. He felt very much like a worm being swooped down upon by a great, black bird.

Less phased, Detective Lupin sheepishly moved off the expensive rug and rummaged around for his wand. He dried them both hastily and banished the puddles they'd left on the stone floor.

"You've brought him?" Mr. Snape demanded, his tone a strange mix of dread and relief.

"See for yourself," Lupin replied with a proud smile, tucking away his wand once more. Harry met Mr. Snape's obsidian eyes nervously, unsure of what to do or say. Finally, he settled on bowing, as he did to the rich men who came to the stables. He bowed low and waited.

"If you are truly the heir of Lord Dumbledore, it is I who should be bowing to you, young master," Mr. Snape said silkily. After a tentative glance through dark, thick lashes, Harry straightened and flushed red with color.

"I'm just Harry...Sir," the stable boy said nervously.

"Look at me, in the eyes, if you please," Mr. Snape commanded. Unable to refuse the order, Harry found his courage and met the man's dark look square on. For a long moment, Snape stared down his rather impressive nose at the skinny boy who had Lily's eyes, as clear as day.

"What do you remember of your mother, boy?" Snape asked. Detective Lupin watched the pair of them curiously. There was the obvious physical similarities, but in truth, plenty of young men had black hair and green eyes. Lupin had done his own research, but he wondered by what means Mr. Snape would determine if Harry was the missing heir. If he did not know how difficult the skill was to perform, he'd almost suspect Mr. Snape was using legilimancy.

"I don't remember her, Sir," Harry replied. Of course he didn't—he'd been an infant.

"Then how, exactly, do you intend to convince me that you are her son? You do realize, _Harry_, that if I determine you are not the heir, then I will be the one to inherit Lord Dumbledore's estate. Naturally, I wish to be highly convinced," Mr. Snape said in a slow, measured tone that almost sounded threatening.

"Mr. Snape, allow me to present my findings," Lupin offered, but Mr. Snape held up his hand to silence the detective.

"I did not ask for your proof, Detective. I asked for _his_."

"I don't know what to tell you," Harry said, some frustration creeping into his voice. "I didn't know anything about this. Detective Lupin just comes out of nowhere, whisks me away, and says I can learn to do magic and that I'm to live in a big castle...that my grandfather is dying. I reckon he's probably wrong about who I am. I'm just a stable boy. But Lord Dumbledore _is_ dying soon, right? What would it hurt to let him see me? Even if I'm not his grandson, wouldn't it make him feel a little better to _think_ his grandson has been found? Otherwise, you dragged me a long way from home for nothing."

"There is sense enough in that. Come along then," Snape agreed, after a long moment. Detective Lupin wasn't sure, but he thought when Mr. Snape turned away that he saw a small smile on the stern man's lips. He _knew_ Harry was Lord Dumbledore's heir, and he'd prove it if he had to, but whatever Harry said seemed to be proof enough for the moment.

"I'll just wait in the drawing room, then," Detective Lupin said. "I know the weather is terrible, but if I could borrow an owl?" Mr. Snape waved dismissively over his shoulder, and so Remus headed to the drawing room in order to owl the authorities in London about the body he'd found.

Meanwhile, Harry was having to run to keep with Mr. Snape's long strides.

"You do not appear to be a day over fifteen," Mr. Snape criticized. Harry bristled. He knew he was small and a little scrawny, but he was not that young.

"I've just turned seventeen, Sir," Harry replied, a bit sullenly. Mr. Snape led him through what felt like a maze of lushly decorated hallways before they finally stopped in front of two, massive doors. Mr. Snape opened them quietly and swept inside. Harry lingered a bit at the doorway, hesitant to enter the cavernous master suite with its towering fireplace, eerily moving painting, and the dying man in the middle.

"Lord Dumbledore...Albus...the boy is here. Your heir has been found," Mr. Snape said with surprising conviction. Harry gathered his courage and entered the room, looking nervously at Snape who seemed to say _'This was your idea, wasn't it?'_

Swallowing thickly, Harry approached the man's bedside. He was surprised to see such a long beard on the old man, and to see blue eyes instead of green behind half-moon spectacles.

"Err...hello, Sir. I'm sorry to hear you're not well," Harry said quietly. The old man peered up at him, and Harry had the distinct feeling that Lord Dumbledore was looking straight through him.

"My boy...you have returned...at last," Lord Dumbledore rasped. He reached weakly for Harry, and Harry tenderly took the old man's hand. Could it really be that this man was his grandfather? If he was, Harry thought it horribly cruel that he'd only found him as he was dying. Deciding not to care for propriety, Harry sat at the man's side, staring deeply into those twinkling blue eyes.

"I'm glad I came. I'm glad I got to meet you," Harry said. "Are you in much pain? Is there anything I can do?"

"No, my boy, not much pain now," Albus replied. A harsh, wet cough followed his words, and Harry met Snape's eyes nervously. Lord Dumbledore truly was on the very brink of death.

"Then...tell me about her, please. Tell me about my mother," Harry begged. Mr. Snape's eyes widened in surprise, and then he scowled and turned away, clearly pained by the subject. Dumbledore, however, smiled widely and gestured towards the portrait.

"She was lovely. My partner and I took her in. She was an orphan, you see. We told no one all these years," Albus confessed.

"Albus!" Severus hissed in surprise. Clearly, when Dumbledore said he'd told no one, he meant literally no one. Harry blinked a few times in confusion.

"So...you're not my grandfather by blood? Then why search for me?" Harry asked. It was as he thought—there was no way he was truly related to someone like Lord Dumbledore.

"You are my grandson here," he lightly tapped his heart, struggling to beat, "and you are the son of my daughter. That is enough for me. Is it enough for you, Severus? Will you be his Guardian, as you once promised me?"

"I...yes. I will tell no one of this secret," Severus said gravely, as if making a vow. Albus merely smiled.

"I grow tired. Harry, speak to Severus. It would please me for him to tell you of your mother. He knew her best—he was her dearest friend." Harry didn't miss the bitter look that flashed in his new Guardian's eyes.

"She was an impatient girl, full of silly ideas. She...she was pure of heart, though, like no one I have met since," Mr. Snape said quietly. Harry's eyes turned to the portrait above the hearth. The red-head peeked at him from behind her book and grinned impishly. Harry smiled, and felt his eyes grow a little moist.

"I am glad you are home, my boy. I must rest now. Come visit me again tomorrow," Lord Dumbledore said quietly before his eyes closed peacefully and he fell into a gentle nap. Mr. Snape softened upon seeing him resting so peacefully. When his eyes met Harry's curious ones, he gave Harry a look of gratitude.

"You have given him peace, young master."

"I am glad to have met him," Harry replied. He did not know what sort of man Albus Dumbledore had once been, but Harry was a kind boy, and he wished to put the old man at ease.

"Come, we'll see to paying the Detective for his services and unloading your things," Mr. Snape said. Harry shrugged.

"Haven't got any things, Sir."

"What do you mean, you haven't any things?" Mr. Snape demanded, as they left the old man's bed chambers.

"I just owned the clothes on my back, and Detective Lupin got rid of those. I'm from Cheapside, Sir. I'm just a poor stable boy and street sweep."

Mr. Snape spun in towards him, so that he was staring intensely at his young ward.

"Have you ever been to school, boy?" Mr. Snape demanded. Harry shook his head. "Can you read?" Again, Harry shook his head in denial. Mr. Snape pinched the bridge of his large nose in irritation and swept off down the hall again, leaving Harry to scurry to catch up.

"I'm good with horses, Sir. I could work in your stables," Harry offered. Mr. Snape turned again, this time with an impatient sigh.

"You do not seem to understand, boy. This—all of this—is _yours_. On your eighteenth birthday, my guardianship of you will end and you will be the lord of this estate. The house, the stables, the land, and all of Lord Dumbledore's assets will belong to _you_. You will be one of the richest men in England, and one of the most eligible bachelors."

Harry shifted awkwardly and looked horribly overwhelmed by such an idea.

"I can't do that, Sir. You'd best take it. If you'd let me work in the stables, though, that would be a nice way to be getting on. My old job has probably been taken by now."

"This is going to be a _long_ year," Mr. Snape said with a sigh, though inwardly he was incredibly pleased with Harry's innocence. There was a spark in his eyes that was missing from Lily's painting, and while it pained Severus to be reminded of it, it warmed his cold heart at the same time. "Come along. Your lessons will have to commence immediately."

* * *

><p>When Mr. Snape had learned of the murder, he was highly intrigued. The three men sat in the parlor with firewhiskey, which Harry was discreetly pouring into a nearby potted plant until Mr. Snape caught him at it.<p>

"That is very expensive firewhiskey, boy! Do not pour it out on the plants!" Severus chided.

"Might I have some water, then? This stuff burns," Harry said distastefully. Mr. Snape snapped his fingers and a strange creature appeared. Harry was startled, but tried not to make any sudden movements. He'd never seen anything like it.

"Dobby, fetch Lord Potter a butterbeer," he instructed. The house elf nodded and disappeared with a loud crack. Neither Lupin nor Snape seemed at all disturbed by this fact.

"What _was_ that thing?" Harry asked.

"Dobby is the head house elf. Albeywick Estate employs nearly fifty of them," Mr. Snape said. Detective Lupin looked very impressed, and Harry could only assume that house elves were not common to own, nor cheap.

"Oh," Harry said. He hunched over, feeling very tired, when another cracking noise startled him upright again. The house elf was back, this time with a tumbler full of a bubbling, fizzing amber colored liquid. Harry took a tentative sip (wary now, since the firewhiskey had nearly burned his throat away) and delighted at the taste of the new drink. Detective Lupin smiled at Harry's surprised grin and even Mr. Snape seemed a little less stern than usual.

"This is fantastic. Thanks!" Harry chirruped, and proceeded to gulp thirstily at the drink. Mr. Snape and Detective Lupin winced at his manners, and winced again when Harry finished the beverage and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Finally catching their stares, Harry lowered his arm confusedly.

"What?"

Mr. Snape merely sighed.

"You can remain here, at Albeywick, during the duration of your investigation. Crime is unheard of in Somersetshire. With the safety of my ward to consider, I must do all I can to ensure the murderer is quickly apprehended," Mr. Snape offered. Detective Lupin graciously accepted.

"That is most kind of you, Mr. Snape," Lupin replied.

"Maybe I can help you find the murderer. I've got good eyes. I'll be on the look out for anyone with long, dark hair," Harry offered. Remus winced at the casual way Harry discussed his clue and Mr. Snape smirked. He was more interested in the murder case than he had let on.

"Long, dark hair you say? Most intriguing," Mr. Snape said. It was then that Harry noticed Mr. Snape's hair could fit that description, though due to his wealth, he had no motive to rob the mysterious P.P.

"Ah, yes, well I appreciate your offer, Lord Potter, but please be more careful about discussing my evidence. It will make it harder to catch my man if he suspects I'm onto him," Lupin explained. Harry nodded and felt a bit sheepish.

"Sorry," he offered, slouching over once more and yawning hugely. Mr. Snape raised a strong, black brow.

"Firstly, young master, do not slouch so. You have poor breeding from your father and that can't be helped, but you must not let it show. Secondly, do not yawn in polite company."

"I can't rightly help that, now can I?" Harry protested. As if to prove his point, another yawn fought its way out.

"If you _must_ yawn, cover it with your hand or turn your head," Mr. Snape instructed coolly. Detective Lupin barely checked his grin. It would certainly be a lively household with the two of them bickering and squabbling all summer. He didn't know if it would be the best environment for conducting a murder investigation, but a huge part of him wanted to stay and see Harry develop into his status. Detective Lupin couldn't help but root for the poor boy with the odds stacked so highly against him.

* * *

><p>Harry soon learned life for the rich was stuffy and full of rules, and he'd barely made it past breakfast the next morning (which consisted of the sweetest chocolate drink Harry had ever had the pleasure of sipping). Mr. Snape, who said he did not care for sweets, drank a strong tea with his morning bread. Detective Lupin, like Harry, happily accepted the hot chocolate.<p>

"We shall begin with table manners, or your complete lack thereof," Mr. Snape began, as Harry reached for a handful of rolls without care for who else had begun to eat. Detective Lupin had not even been seated yet. Harry, however, had skipped a few meals prior to his arrival, due to being a bit hard up for farthings that month, and so the sight of the warm bread made his stomach ache in desire.

"When you are hosting a guest, there are seating arrangements that are to be observed," Mr. Snape lectured. Harry ripped into his bread, only half-listening. Detective Lupin graciously accepted his hot chocolate from a house elf and inhaled the aroma of the luxurious drink as if he were about to drink the nectar of the gods.

"You should not be sitting by me. As the head of the household, you should sit at the high end of the table," Mr. Snape said, suggesting Harry needed to get up and move. The wild-haired boy just swallowed his cheek-fulls of bread and flashed Mr. Snape a puzzled look.

"Why? I want to sit by you. I can't talk to you if I'm twelve chairs down, now can I?" Harry reasoned. Detective Lupin, who was of humble origins, nodded in bemused agreement. Mr. Snape sighed.

"While some rules of etiquette may not make sense, it is of the utmost importance such customs be observed, otherwise you will find yourself the laughing stock of Somersetshire," Mr. Snape said. Harry winked roguishly at Detective Lupin.

"So? Who cares if they laugh at me? Don't I have more money than them now?" Harry asked. He was fast learning that riling up Mr. Snape was a quite enjoyable past time.

"I was mistaken in my initial impression. You are as impertinent as you are unmannerly," Mr. Snape declared. Harry just smiled at him.

"Can I have more chocolate?"

Mr. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and Detective Lupin chuckled despite himself.

* * *

><p>Teaching Harry manners was not nearly as difficult as teaching the boy his lessons.<p>

"When can I get a wand and learn magic?" he asked eagerly, his green eyes large and imploring. Mr. Snape sighed and tapped the simple text open in front of Harry with a long finger.

"Before foolish wand-waving, you must know how to read, and before introducing you to society, you must be well-read. I will not stand for anything less," Mr. Snape demanded imperiously. Harry sighed, much like a pouting child, and wondered what use was the ability to read if he'd gotten along his whole life without it before.

"Can't you just use a spell to make me smart like you?" Harry asked. Mr. Snape paused a moment, as if caught off guard by the compliment, and then shook his head. His tone was not quite as exasperated sounding as it had been before when he replied.

"You can not use magic to cheat your way through life. A young man of wealth and status must work diligently on his lessons and the betterment of his mind. Now, start at the beginning."

After another hour of painful struggling, Harry was able to identify his alphabet, and was sounding out short words. Despite his reluctance to learn, Mr. Snape could tell the boy was proud when he wrote his own name in a messy scrawl.

"That is enough of reading for this morning. Now we shall work on dancing."

"Dancing? I'm afraid I'll be rubbish at that," Harry warned. Mr. Snape was not known to be a creative or inspiring dancer either. He had no interest in learning all the latest steps, almost never attended the local balls, and when he danced, it was overly formal and slightly painful looking for his poor partner. Still, Mr. Snape knew that dancing was an important past time of the young folk, and so Harry must learn at least the basic steps if he were to fit in.

In the impressive music room, Mr. Snape waved his wand casually at the pianoforte, and a beautiful melody began to play. For a moment, the older man seemed lost in thought as he stared at the empty room and heard the music, as if he were seeing memories replay in his mind's eye. In fact, that was just what was happening. As Lily's favorite song washed over him, Severus remembered being an awkward lad of fourteen, nervous and terrified of embarrassing himself, as the beautiful Lily brought him to the music room and insisted he learn to dance so she would not be forced to dance with Sirius Black all the time at the balls. Lily had been a natural dancer, elegant and graceful, and all who saw her dance were entranced by her beauty and loveliness.

"Mr. Snape?" Harry said, drawing his guardian's attention back to the present. Annoyed with himself for his moment of weakness, Mr. Snape swept into the room and extended his hand. Harry looked at it skeptically.

"Is it normal for two blokes to dance with each other?" Harry asked.

"It is not uncommon. I understand that in the muggle world unions are only between man and woman, but it is not so in magical society. Of course, there are still very strict rules about who should marry who."

"Wait, you mean two blokes can get married?"

"Naturally. Your grandfather was married to another man. I had always assumed his partner birthed Lily, but I suppose they took her in from somewhere."

"Err...men can have babies?" Harry asked, looking even more confused. Mr. Snape dropped his extended hand.

"Bloodlines are very important in the wizarding world, and many marriages are arranged long before the parents know what the sex of their children will be. There are potions to change gender and enable an heir to be produced."

"Do you...like other men?" Harry asked, curious as a little cat. Mr. Snape blushed (two dark stains on his normally pale cheekbones) and extended his hand once more.

"That is of no concern to you. Come along, Lord Potter. The sooner I teach you to dance, the sooner we can be done with it."

Looking quite nervous, and yet also seeming seconds away from bursting out in uncomfortable laughter, Harry moved into the circle of Mr. Snape's arms. Harry's mind boggled. He'd never really thought about men or women before, too absorbed in trying to survive. He'd thought it would be nice to have a little family of his own someday, where everyone was kind and there was lots of laughter, but that dream had been a far off one.

_'Do I enjoy standing in his arms?'_ Harry asked himself. He bit his lip as Mr. Snape's long fingers curled around the small of his back, and his larger hand enclosed around Harry's own. Mr. Snape guided him along awkwardly, both of them stumbling and tripping up far more than once.

_'No,'_ Harry decided, as his foot began to throb from where Mr. Snape had just stepped on it, _'I do not care for dancing, especially with Mr. Snape.'_

Still, Harry felt strange after the dance, and he could not necessarily say it was a bad sort of strange.

* * *

><p>Detective Lupin was out most of the evening, presumably doing detective work. Mr. Snape had sent Dobby to conveniently run into a Miss Weasley at the tailors to inform her that yes, the heir had been found, but that his health was recovering and he would make no social appearances until Christmas, at the very earliest. This sent the town into an uproar, but social pariah and hermit that he was (largely by choice), Mr. Snape was unperturbed by it.<p>

What _did_ way heavily on his mind was the appallingly bad state of his ward's education and manners. After the boy had finished his nightly visit with his grandfather, Severus sat by the man's bedside and complained of the boy's deplorable state.

"His manners are atrocious, Albus, and he can barely read the alphabet. He is a terrible dancer, has no ear for music, and no appreciation for art or history. We attempted a potions lesson this eve and that was a complete disaster."

"Ah, have patience, my boy. Young Harry has come from hard circumstances...and that is my fault. Please do what you can for him. Tell me, is he much like his mother?"

At that, Severus could finally muster a smile.

"He has her spirit...and her disdain for propriety and personal boundaries," Severus said fondly.

"Good then. If he is bright like my dear Lily, he will be caught up in no time."

"Either that, or he will drive me mad," Severus complained. Albus only smiled, and returned to his peaceful napping.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I apologize for getting confused on some terms last chapter. Thank you a ton to the reviewer who pointed that out for me! That was an embarrassing mistake, but it should be all fixed now. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.


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